A Little Lesson
by HamPickleSandwich
Summary: Dewey's having a little trouble with spelling a certain name; so Unca Donald helps him out. Oneshot.


**_You could call this a companion piece to Kisses and Sissy Stuff... though the plot content isn't as romantic as that one. Hopefully all characters are portrayed right... the triplets are little (Ducktales age as opposed to Quack Pack age). I don't own any of the characters here :) Oh, and forgive me for the terrible acrostic poems XD_**

**_love, HamPickleSandwich_**

* * *

><p>He just couldn't understand it. Why, of all possible options, did he have to be stuck with what he had? The blank space at the top of the page stared back at him, glaring mockingly.<p>

"Just write Dewey Duck up there, for crying out loud! It's not like you're gonna get arrested or anythin'!" Huey snapped, drumming his fingers on his own paper, annoyed. Louie doodled on scrap paper, having filled out most of the form. As always, the dreaded permission form had surfaced again, and there was always the same old dilemma. Huey and Louie were able to fill out their forms easily, _they_ had simple names. But what of his own troublesome name?

"They need full names, Huey, why else did you write Huebert Duck, you big palooka!" he shot back, pretending to throw his pen at the red-clad duckling, feeling a grim satisfaction when he flinched.

"Are you still not finished?" their uncle started, annoyed but clearly unsurprised. His expression softened at the simultaneous cry of "We have, Unca Donald" from Huey and Louie, while Dewey averted his gaze, embarrassed. Sympathetic to the plight of the duckling, he continued.

"Alright, boys, you can get started on your room then." he announced, much to the dismay of his nephews. As they began to trudge off to the staircase, he put a gentle hand on Dewey's shoulder.

"You can help them later." was all he said. Louie stared, about to protest, but a look from Donald silenced his forming words. Dewey sat back down at the kitchen table, face to face once more with the paper, while Donald sat next to him.

"You know, Dewey," Donald began, settling down in his seat, "there are two things that get passed down through everyone in our family, and that's a bad temper, and strange names."

"Huebert and Louis aren't that weird, Unca Donald..." Dewey mumbled, taking the pen into his grasp. The ten year old was trying to put his head around the word in his mind, trying to remember all the letters and in the right order. He had never been called by that name, never, for as long as he could remember. He had very rarely seen it written down, too – it was on his birth certificate, sure; and it was on his school enrolment papers. So, really, it made sense that he had always gone by Dewey and not the monstrosity of a name that his mother had given him.

"Do you know how to spell it, Unca Donald?" he asked suddenly, breaking out of his train of thought. Donald grimaced, but still nodded, taking one of the pens off the table and Louie's scrap paper.

"I had to remember how to write it for a few things when you boys started living here permanently," he explained, writing down a careful capital D. "Now I remember it because I wrote it down so many times." An E followed, joined by a U. "But there are many ways to remember things like this."

Dewey watched his hand carefully, as it began to pick up speed. Like magic, the name was appearing in all its lengthy glory on the page, while Donald began to say the last letters.

"N, O, M, and Y. Deuteronomy." he said, sitting back against the back of the chair. Dewey let out a whistle of appreciation. There it was, ready for him to copy down? This life lesson was the easiest one he had ever learnt. But before he could even think of the word 'thanks', the paper was folded and tucked into his uncle's pocket.

"Uh-uh-uh... You gotta learn how to spell it for yourself. You won't regret it, I promise." Donald had a smirk on his face as Dewey struggled to come up with an appropriate comeback. Giving up on a response, he nodded and left to join his brothers.

The permission slip was on the fridge, waiting patiently for the epiphany that Dewey was sure to have when he finally remembered the exact order of letters. He tried sounding it out, repeating it to himself... No matter how hard he tried, the letters jumbled in his 10 year old mind. Had it been a Junior Woodchucks exercise... now that would have come to him easily! There was always the manual... and if not that, they had the chants that they made up –

"That's IT!" Dewey cried suddenly. His family stared at him, wondering what his sudden outburst was inspired by. It wasn't as if dinner table conversation had called for the 'eureka' moment...

"Unca Donald, where's my name?" he demanded. Donald stared blankly for a moment, while his brothers stifled giggles at the peculiarity of the question. Dewey glared at his uncle, disbelieving that he had possibly forgotten about the discussion they had had just days before. Suddenly, recognition flooded Donald's features. He jumped up, a smile on his face.

"In my pocket..." he said, fishing for the crumpled piece of paper. He produced it triumphantly.

"Can I have it for a second, Unca Donald? I promise I won't cheat." Dewey asked, reaching for the paper. He found another piece of scrap paper from the kitchen, returning with a pen. His brothers leaned forward as he copied the name vertically down the page. Slowly, the name became a series of words, a phrase, finally shaping into a peculiar sentence:

"Dewey,  
>Every<br>Umbrella's  
>Taking<br>Elephants  
>'Round<br>On  
>Nero's<br>Obviously  
>Magnificent<br>Yacht."

"What in the world are you writing, Dewey?" Louie asked, taking the paper from him and trying to figure it out.

"It's an acrostic poem!" Huey declared, snatching the paper away. Donald took the paper from the duckling's fingers, inspecting his nephew's handiwork.

"Well done, Dewey... can you remember it?" he asked, fishing another piece of scrap paper from his pocket. (He blushed as his nephews giggled at the love note written in very Daisy-ish handwriting on the other side) Dewey took the paper, thinking for a short moment while the blank paper looked back at him. He began to write slowly, carefully...

"Dewey, every umbrella's... round on Nero's... There! Deuteronomy!"

In his childish scrawl was indeed his name, and so it lay freshly imprinted on his mind when he filled out the form that had plagued him in the first place.

Donald smiled to himself as his kissed his nephews good night, before turning to his tax forms. Tax forms always made him nervous... Tongue slightly sticking out, he filled in the space.

"From around (the) universe, nobody tries loving enigmas (as) ravishing or yearning as my Daisy!" he mumbled to himself. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.

"Donald Fauntleroy Duck, you've still got it!"


End file.
